


Seasons

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: fanfic100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-07
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four connected drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for LJ's Fanfic100 Community  
> Prompts 61 to 64: Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

Winter: The Warmth of You

_That's what my heart yearns for now  
\--"Love and Pride", King_

It is one of the coldest winters on record. The snowfall seems endless, and the temperature drops so low that meteorologists warn that skin exposure of only 10 minutes can result in frostbite.

Justin bundles up to trudge home from his studio, face averted from the wind and daydreaming of lazy days spent curled under the duvet, hot showers that ended in slick bodies atop warm covers and take-out from Bernie's.

His new bed is smaller and Carpaccio's is no Bernie's, but when Justin looks up to find Brian huddled on his stoop, he thinks they'll make out just fine.

* * *

Spring: Inspiration

_I was walking down the street early this morning  
Past the graveyard voices whisper to me  
\--"Still in Hollywood", Concrete Blonde_

Justin takes to sketching in the graveyard. It's quiet, he says, and peaceful, and occasionally the whisper of wind in the new spring grass sounds like benevolent voices urging him on. He leaves the bustle of New York behind in those times, he says.

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose and worries. About the solitude. About creeps who might get off on graveyards and fucking up young artists they find there.

"Maybe you should show me this graveyard of yours," Brian says casually during one late night call.

"Maybe I should," Justin replies. Brian can practically see him grinning.

* * *

Summer: It's Time

_I'll stay with you until the end  
I'll see you let me be your friend  
\--"Don't Tell Me", Blancmange_

Sometimes Justin thinks it would be less painful to beat his head against a brick wall than deal with Brian at his willfully obstinate worst. The summer heat broiling his brains isn't making things any easier.

Justin loves New York's vibrancy and colour, and he's made contacts, and his work is flourishing. Most of all, he's proven to himself that he can make it on his own. He feels indestructible, he tells Brian, and for once he knows it's just not arrogant bravado. He is indestructible, and he knows it's time for him to follow his heart and go home.

* * *

Fall: Phase Three

_Thank you for coming home  
I'm sorry that the chairs are all worn  
\--"Gold", Spandau Ballet_

"Well," Justin says.

Brian shrugs out of his jacket and then remembers there's nowhere to put it. Even the old dustcloth-covered furniture is gone. Autumn has snuck up on him unawares and the room is chilly, and he realizes he should have started a fire. He should have done a lot of things.

"I thought I'd have--" Brian begins.

Justin shakes his head and smiles, crossing the empty sitting room to encircle Brian's waist with his arms. Brian lets his jacket drop unheeded to the dusty floor.

"We can decorate together," Justin says. "Right now, I have everything I need."


End file.
